


Spill out my passions upon your feet

by A_Tardis_in_Turkey



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Childhood Friends, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Forbidden Love, Jealousy, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Jon and Sansa Are Not Related, Jonsa Smut Week, Modern Royalty, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-10 02:32:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12902076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Tardis_in_Turkey/pseuds/A_Tardis_in_Turkey
Summary: “Why do you torture yourself like this?”“No one, Rhaenys, you cannot tell her, or him, or anyone.”She could feel her heart breaking for her brother, not so little anymore."Please Rhaenys. Please. No one can know."Oh Jon, she thought, everyone that matters already knows.





	Spill out my passions upon your feet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amymel86](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amymel86/gifts).



> So! This is my extremely long oneshot addition for Jonsa Smut week, late I know, but it technically includes all the prompts, yay! Just not in the fight order and not always in smut form.
> 
> This is for Amymel as she was the one that encouraged me and gave me the original push to publish, she is so lovely and friendly and I just hope you like this if you're reading this!! So far I've absolutely loved writing for this fandom in my little stories, so I really hope you guys like this one!!! Enjoy and please comment if you can! :D

"Which one is she?"

Rhaegar crouched down next to his son, looking at the official portrait of the Royal Family of the North.

"Which one do you think she is?"

A young finger smudged the glass over the face of a little girl with grey eyes and a begrudging smile.

"That one? With the dark hair like Rhaenys?"

"No, not that one."

"The red haired one then, like her Mum."

The King of the Crownlands watched his son's small face, curious for his reaction.

"Yes that's her; your future bride. What do you think?"

 Thin, 12 year old shoulders shrugged.

"Pretty I guess. Do I really have to marry her though, Father?"

Big eyes looked up into his, Rhaegar sighed, they were just like the boy's mother's.

"Yes Aegon, you do."

 

* * *

 

Jon Targaryen hurtled down the palace corridor, skipping round a corner and skidding on the marble floors.

"Rhaenys! Wait! Wait for me!"

A gleeful laugh drifted back down towards the dark haired boy, and he pushed his skinny 10 year old legs all the faster.

Rounding the last corner, his dress shoes flying across the polished staircase, he slammed into the legs of his Father.

"Jon! You're late!"

"Sorry Father, I lost track of time reading and- and Rhaenys challenged me to a race, and then I had to changed my pants because I slipped-"

Seeing the upward tick of his Father's mouth, and knowing that he wouldn't face any penalties today of all days, Jon blew out the rest of his breath and took his place beside his sister.

Jon wasn't too worried, after all, whilst it was the arrival of a Royal Family, this wasn't the state greeting and there was no one to report on his tardiness in such close company.

He was glad of his timing a minute later though, when the doors opened to the drive and he and his family stepped out just before the line of Range Rovers pulled up carrying the King in the North and his family.

Excitement thrummed through him. Whilst not directly, his Mother had been the 2nd cousin twice removed or some such relation of the King of the North, and they had grown up together. Before she had passed, his Mother would tell him such wonderful stories of the North and of the king, Ned Stark. Jon could feel himself near vibrating in anticipation of meeting the man she had spoken so fondly of and his family.

The car door opened and out stepped a man with an austere brow and straight lips, followed by a beautiful lady with long dark red hair.

Their picture of elegance was soon ruined by the spilling of three children from the back of the car. A boy around his age, with his mother's hair in riotous curls, a girl around five that looked much like him but was twisting her head every which way to take in her surroundings, and a boy around four whose hair was a reddish brown and looked to be bouncing in giddiness at the sights before him.

Jon's vision was soon stolen however, by another girl stepping out, holding a boy around two by his hand, hair brighter than her mother or her siblings held back in a French braid.

She was her mother in miniature, down to the elegant way she led her little brother over to her Mother to be held by her.

Jon quickly rattled the names of the Stark children off in his head, matching them to the portrait used to teach him their names.

Robb stood next to his father now, a grin splitting his face. Next him was the second Stark princess, Arya, the one who looked like her father and like him. Bran stark stood next to his Mother, Rickon Stark in her arms. 

Between her parents stood Sansa Stark, first Princess of the North and- Jon didn't bother to close his gaping mouth- the prettiest girl Jon had ever seen.

 

* * *

 

Sansa giggled as Jon placed a wreath of flowers on her head, brushing a fallen petal out of her eyes.

He grinned back, folding into a sweeping bow, hands flourishing at his sides.

At the ridiculously flamboyant action, Sansa couldn't help but break into peals of gasping laughter, joined a second later with Jon's soft but hearty chuckles.

"Well, Queen of Love and Beauty, what would you have of your Knight, my service is yours."

A failure of a wink accompanied his words and Sansa laughed all the harder.

"Jon- oh gosh- Jon-"

"How rude! The lady laughs at my declaration! I am wounded to the core!" Jon clasped a hand to his chest to accompany his melodramatic teasing.

Sansa fell down on the grass clutching her stomach, soundless gasps escaping her.

Soon, Jon joined her on the well manicured lawn, laughing along as they gazed up at the branches above.

Sansa turned her head to view the boy lying next to her, giggling now and then, reminded of his antics.

Sometimes she didn't know how she had thought he was rude and didn't like her, the first time they met. Although Jon hadn't been able to speak four words in a row together to her for the first three days, which had rather upset her sensibilities. He had been verbose enough with her siblings, especially Robb and Arya, who had all become thick as thieves.

It was that, really, that had changed things.

 ...

 

_Sansa wasn't silly. She wasn't stupid. And they would be the only reasons to cry about stupid sisters and brothers, and princes that didn't invite her to play._

_She had been having fun with Rhaenys anyway, they had become fast friends, sharing a love of all things beautiful and bonding over brother's that could be absolutely intolerable at times, although she did love hers dearly, especially Robb, who always looked after her._

_So she wouldn't have been able to play knights and dragons anyway, but still. It hurt. It hurt that they didn't ask._

_It was all Jon Targaryen's fault!_

_He was so friendly and nice to all her siblings, he even got along with Arya, and she didn't like too many people, she had asked Robb if Jon had said he didn't like her, but Robb had just said he hadn't, though-_

_"Don't be silly Sansa, he definitely likes you, and if he didn't he'd get in trouble from me!"_

_At that, he had flexed his arm in a poor imitation of the strong men at the Northern Games, and grinning cheekily._

_She had forgotten her worry that afternoon after that, but it all came rushing back now._

_Sansa had been nice! She had curtsied, and said hello and smiled, and she had thought he looked very nice, she had liked his pretty eyes._

_But he had just stood there, gaping like a fish, until his sister had elbowed him!_

_She didn't understand! Aegon was nice, he talked to her properly, Sansa couldn't help but he glad he was her betrothed, even if she hadn't seen him much, and he seemed to prefer playing with his other friends than with them, and didn't have nearly as pretty eyes as-_

_Well. She would give Prince Jon a piece of her mind._

_Tears still welling in her eyes, Sansa stomped as gracefully as possible over to the garden where Rhaenys said Jon would likely be._

_Seeing him bent over some flowers, looking ever so peaceful, Sansa stopped trying to be graceful and ran over to the boy, planting herself in front of him._

_"Princess Sansa!"_

_Sansa took in his widening eyes and flushed face happily, thinking he had finally realised his rudeness, but would not be deterred from a proper dressing down._

_"Prince Jon, if you don't like me then-then that is okay, but I want to know why!" Sansa allowed herself to stomp her foot at this point, too upset to care for being ladylike._

_"What- don't like- wait-"_

_"Don't try and say you don't! You won't talk to me when I try, but you talk to everyone else, and you play with the others and not me and- and you didn't even ask me!"_

_Sansa wasn't used to not being liked, especially by people she wanted to like her. She always tried to be nice, and she couldn't think of anything she'd done to Jon._

_Frustrated and embarrassed about having to confront the boy before her, the tears that had been welling, started to escape._

_They jumpstarted Jon out of his shocked silence._

_"Oh no! Sansa, oh don't cry, please don't cry, oh gods-"_

_"You shouldn't say that, it's rude to the gods," Sansa managed to interject between hasty sniffles and wiping her face._

_"I'm sorry, I won't, just please, please, please don't cry. Here, have this-"_

_Sansa took the handkerchief with slight suspicion, not sure why he was talking to her now, and even being nice!_

_"I'm really sorry Princess, I didn't mean to make you think that. I was just worried- I didn't want to embarrass myself in front of you."_

_"What?"_

_"Well, you're so good at being a Princess, and you're very proper, and pretty, and polite, and I didn't want to look an idiot."_

_Sansa considered this in between blowing her nose._

_"Here, just wait, let me, let me get something, I'll be right back, don't move!"_

_Sansa watched as the boy ran off to the palace backwards, shouting back as he went._

_Deciding to wait she sat down. Well. That was a stupid reason not to talk to her. He just went and embarrassed her._

_But he had called her pretty, so he couldn't be all bad._

_She might, maybe, possibly forgive him._

_Brought out of her deliberations by her name being called again, she turned to see Jon running back towards her across the lawn._

_"Here, I made this for you today, but I was too scared to give it to you, that's why I didn't ask you to play too."_

_He placed a garland of daisies, lopsided and shedding, upon the crown of her head._

_Sansa didn't know what to say, but she thought, as she tackled him with a hug, that she could, probably, definitely, forgive him after all._

...

 

Three years later, Jon was 13 and Sansa was 11, and they were, Sansa thought, the very best of friends.

Well of course, Rhaenys was also her best friend, but she had best friends her age as well, and her and Rhaenys talked about different things than her and Jon. It was just different.

After all, no one knew how to make Sansa laugh like Jon did. Except for maybe Robb (and Arya when they were on the same side, but she wouldn't admit that under pain of death) and he never did so with the soft gentleness of Jon. 

Jon was always gentle, so very, very gentle.

Smiling fondly over at her knight, lying beside her under the blue skies and warm wind, Sansa knew what she wished for.

"I want my knight to smile more, if it pleases you. After all Sir Jon, you have such a pretty grin, I would not want to waste it."

Jon grinned at her.

"As my Lady commands."

 

* * *

 

 

"Why does Aegon have to marry Sansa?"

Rhaenys looked over at her littlest brother, sitting on her bed, confused eyes peering up at her.

She sighed, you'd think at 15 years old, the boy would have asked such a question before, but it had never really been an issue, before this year.

"Is this about Sansa not being able to spend time with you as much this year? I know you've already had an argument with her about it, so don't lie and deny it!"

Jon's naturally brooding face grew even more brooding.

"...maybe."

Rhaenys gave an even bigger sigh, gods, why did she have to put up with such idiots, really.

"Aegon shall be king, little brother, and Sansa shall be queen. That is why they must marry. The insult and harm done to the North in the past century, partly by our grandfather, can only be mended by the sharing of power that a betrothal would achieve. The treaty was made so that it was ensured a Northerner would have say in the treatment of their homeland, sharing the throne is the only way to ensure this.

"Aegon and Sansa must marry because they are the first to fulfil the requirements of the treaty, Jon. They are, unfortunately, in this situation, the sacrificial goats."

"But-but, why not have you marry one of the Stark boys! You are eldest, and first in line to the throne!"

Rhaenys shook her head, Jon knew these facts already, knew the answers to his questions, but he refused to think it all through.

"It is how the treaty sets out the balance of power Jon, you know this. A Queen married to a King has more power than a prince consort married to a Queen, and besides, the agreement was set out before the rites of inheritance were changed. I certainly am more than glad to relinquish my rights to the crown and I also would rather not marry any man."

At this, Jon let out a begrudging chuckle, but his eyes still frowned and his lips were tinged melancholy.

"Jon, listen. Go and find Sansa, apologise to her and then run amok with her as you always have. Treasure the time you do have together, rather than mourn what you do not."

 

* * *

 

"Are you... wearing... a dress?"

"So you have spotted the change, my dear third-cousin-of-my-father's-brother's-mother-in-law!"

Robb slung an arm around Jon's neck as he joined him and Arya in their corner of the ballroom.

Jon rolled his eyes exasperatedly at his fellow prince, whose commitment to his long-standing joke of giving Jon the most ridiculous relation possible was going on 6 years.

Turning back to Arya, he asked once again, "Are you actually wearing a dress? You've never worn a dress, you hate dresses, what did your Mother possibly blackmail you with to get you to wear a dress?"

And it was not as ridiculous question as it sounded. Arya's hatred of dresses had become legendary throughout all the royal families of Westeros. Not once had she worn one to a state dinner or ball. Not. Once.

But tonight, she had on a dark green, almost black creation that sat high on her neck, leaving her arms sleeveless, and was form fitting except from where it swept out from the base of her waist. In... a... skirt?

The dress looked wonderful, no doubt of that, and Jon noted absently that Prince Gendry Baratheon was making no secret of the glances he sent Arya's way every few minutes. It somehow made it look like Arya was nearing tall, or at least not short, as she admittedly was.

"Wait! Don't! I want to say it!" Arya huffed and rolled her eyes but let her older brother interject once more.

He coughed regally before saying in a voice almost too pompous to bear, "It is an 'elongating wide-legged silhouetted jumpsuit'."

"Uh. A what?"

Jon thought Arya might strain herself with the force of her eye rolling at him this time.

"It's a jumpsuit you idiot, but it's wide legged, so it looks like a skirt."

"Ahhh, I understand now. Yup, well. It looks great, where did you get it?"

At this, Arya actually smiled fondly, her lips quirking up in a soft smirk.

"Silly Sansa made it for me actually. She found out that I, well that I," and here Arya blushed, "that I wanted to look good tonight. Like a girl. Pretty. I wanted to look pretty.

"She didn't tell me, she just put it on my bed the other night and let me find it. I thought it was a dress too, almost didn't try it on. But I did, and Jon, it's so comfy! And I can still run! And there's no weird breezes, and I'm not worrying about looking stupid and it fits so well. And it's well, it's perfect."

Jon could hardly believe his ears. Arya, whose praise was usually around two syllables long on a generous day, was gushing. Gushing.

"Yup, good old Sansa, she came through for you, little sister," and with a push that had her glaring at him, Robb spurred Arya over towards the Stormlands contingent with a wink. "Go impress Prince Charming now, and thank Sansa when you do!"

Jon was mostly otherwise occupied when Robb started talking to him again after that though, sweeping his gaze around to find Sansa, wondering if she had seen their little gathering take place.

Finally he caught sight of her, and whilst he registered a brief feeling of discomfort in his stomach at seeing her in the arms of some Reach lord, he could only admire the radiant smile on her face as she watched her sister punch Gendry Baratheon on the shoulder after he whispered something in her ear as they danced.

Watching her, watching them, so kind, so sweet, so Sansa- Jon felt something within him give way.

Gods, she was just so- Sansa.

 

* * *

 

"Sansa, if you could be anything, anything but what and who we are, who would you be?"

"A florist. Or a jeweller. Maybe a fashion designer. Or a historian. But probably a florist."

Jon hummed, pushing a stray hair behind Sansa's ear as she sat before him mending a rip in his favourite sweater. Of course he could afford another one with the blink of his eye, but he could never turn down Sansa when she asked to fix something, to care for him.

"Why a florist?"

Jon could see her as one though, surrounded by beautiful, natural, flowering creatures all day. Just like her. Quickly he tucked that sort of thought away, even though admiring Sansa had been part of his makeup since he first met her.

He could hardly stop himself now.

"Flowers can mean so much. And I'm not just talking about the language of flowers, I mean, what flowers mean to the people that give them, that receive them."

Giving up on looking anywhere else, Jon lay back, resting his head on her lap whilst stretching his legs out before him on the grass.

"How so?"

Sansa finally put down his sweater and focused on him; Jon smothered the cheer that went up inside of him at having her undivided attention.

"Well a lover can give flowers because they want to romance someone, because they want to seduce someone, or they could do it merely because the flower reminded them of how beautiful their love is, to brighten their day, to just say, I love you. And flowers can be a thank you, for loving me, yes, but for caring for me, for being with me, for standing by me. And they can be a celebration, a memory or a mourning all at once."

"A memory. Like you and me, and your wreath?"

Jon held his breath, cursing at himself for suggesting such a thing, unsure if he wanted her to admit the flowers meant the same to her as they did to him.

But then Sansa smiled that gorgeous tender thing, that Jon had only ever seen in this glade, this little patch of garden that was theirs. And in that moment, he felt the restlessness that crawled along his shoulders every time he was near her lately, that had plagued him since he realised Sansa was becoming a woman, settle.

And in that moment, Jon felt at once laid open to every eye that thought to look, and as though the world was at his fingertips.

"Yes, Jon. Like you and me."

 

* * *

 

"Jon- Jon! You need to calm down. Please, calm down-"

"How, Sansa?! How am I meant to calm down when he goes and pulls shit like that! As if he doesn't know he insults you every time he-"

"Jon. Calm. Down. Now."

Sansa was pleased to see Jon snap his mouth shut at her firm tone, glad that after twelve years of friendship she still had the upper hand.

She was less glad that he proceeded to kick a chair halfway across the room.

As soon as he did it though, Sansa could see his eyes widen and him quickly turn to her, hands out placating and eyes wide and gorgeous, hoping he hadn't scared her.

"Shh, I'm fine. It's fine Jon, I'm used to it."

As soon as she said it she knew her words would have the opposite effect to her intention.

He blew up again.

"But that's it! You shouldn't have to used to it! There shouldn't be an it in the first place. He shouldn't ever even bloody look at another woman! He's got the best one bloody well promised to him since birth but the fucker still feels the need to fuck around?"

Sansa could see Jon's shoulders shaking in his fury, felt the tremble in his chest as she placed a hand over his heart. She couldn't help the swelling in her own chest at his words, stamped down the melting of her legs and the porcelain smile trying to break across her face.

"Jon you know as well as I, that what Aegon feels for me, or I for Aegon, is inconsequential. If he wishes to have his flings, why should I stop him. As long as they do not continue when we are married-"

"If he dared-" Jon snarled out his words, obviously too angry to finish.

"He will not. Do not worry for me Jon. I will be fine. I am strong."

"Aye," and finally Jon let his grimace fall to a fond stare, "that you are. You really are strong."

"Good. Now stop being jealous," Jon spluttered but couldn't get a denial out in time, "and come read to me, I'm rather cold and could do with company on the sofa, and I do so love your Mr. Darcy impression."

And as always, Jon grinned.

"As my Lady commands."

 

* * *

 

"Sansa?"

Jon could see her hastily wiping away tears, using the sleaves of her dressing gown instead of the handkerchief she always seemed to have at the ready.

She turned a bright smile over to him, trying to hide the redness of her eyes behind the brilliance of her grin.

As per usual though, it didn't work on him.

Two steps later and she was in his arms, hoisted onto his lap, safely entrenched on the padded bench placed on the private balcony.

Her sobs renewed about two seconds after that.

"Hush, sweetling, shhh, oh my sweet Sansa."

They only came harder.

Jon cradled her closer and kissed her forehead.

They didn't move for the rest of the night.

 

* * *

 

"Jon, are you a virgin?"

Jon hadn't known his face could feel so hot until that moment.

"Wh-wha-what?"

"A virgin. Are you one?"

"Sansa, I'm 24!"

"So, plenty of people, especially people like us, don't have sex until they're married still. Or just later on."

Absolutely flabbergasted, Jon stood stock still with his mouth dropped open. That still seemed to happen quite often around Sansa.

Walking up to him she closed his mouth with her fingertips on his chin and a cheeky little smirk curling on her lips and in her eyes.

"Well?"

"Why?! Why all of a sudden do you want to know?"

"Uh uh, don't try to distract me, young Jon-"

"I'm older than you!"

"-I want my answer! Come on, I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."

Jon suddenly felt much more eager to spill the beans, if only to torture himself with the knowledge of whatever lucky bastard had claimed such a title. Absolute cunt, he was sure.

"Ygritte."

Fuck, he hadn't meant to blurt that out.

"Ygritte?! The ambassador from North of the Wall, that visited a couple of years ago?! Her?!"

Jon couldn't tell beyond his hope that her anger was driven by jealousy, but Sansa seemed rather upset by this information.

"Yeah, but it didn't last or anything. She headed back North, and I stayed here of course. It was just a fling.

"Anyway, who was yours?"

"Aegon."

An increasingly familiar boiling fever swept over Jon at his brother's name.

He loved his brother, he did. Half siblings or not, Aegon and Rhaenys would always be his true brother and sister. But there was only so much jealousy and resentment of a gift left unappreciated that one could stand before it festered.

"Really?"

Suddenly all of Sansa's bravado had disappeared, and Jon watched as she hugged her arms to herself.

"Yes. He was my first. There have been a couple others, very discreet, private things. Sandor, and Dickon. But Aegon was the first. And soon he'll be the only, the last."

And then it was quiet. Sansa sat with her arms tight around herself, eyes glued straight ahead. And Jon sat with his elbows on his knees, palms pressing into his eyes, trying desperately not to let the heat of his anger, at the world, his father, her father, and everyone before and here and now and future, overtake him.

And there they sat. Together.

 

* * *

 

"Why do you torture yourself like this?"

"No one, Rhaenys, you cannot tell her, or him, or anyone."

She could feel her heart breaking for her brother, not so little any more.

She stood over him, holding the ripped out front page of the Kings Landing Telegraph.

_Couple of the Century, Princess Sansa and Prince Aegon once again steal the show on a series of romantic public outings._

"Please Rhaenys. Please. No one can know."

Oh Jon, she thought, everyone that matters, already knows.

 

* * *

 

She wondered if it was cruel of her, loving that he could not take his eyes off her.

Rejoicing in his dropped mouth and wide eyes.

Looking as he did in his black evening suit, with his hair pulled back into the most enticing man bun she had ever seen- she could only think he deserved it.

She had chosen the gown, silver and form fitting and showing enough skin to tantalise, but not enough to shock. Though he certainly looked shocked, she giggled to herself.

Tonight marked the beginning of the end after all.

Her Engagement Ball was taking place, and everyone and anyone was there to celebrate.

One year. She had one year.

Suddenly feeling too hot, too close, too fast, too soon- she stepped out onto the shadowed balcony alcove along the servant's corridor.

She had found the most effective way to deal with her upcoming marriage was to not think of it at all. But that proved rather hard when she was standing there, supposedly celebrating it.

She heard a figure slide onto the balcony behind her, and she turned with a practiced smile at the ready.

And she dropped it as soon as she saw who it was.

"Jon." And she couldn't help the smile that broke across her face at seeing him.

And then she saw something break in him.

The next moment she was back against the balcony, two arms caging her in and a solid (gods, so solid) body standing guard at her front.

"Sansa, you look. Gods- you look straight out of my dreams."

His head came forward to rest right in front of her, their eyes burning into one another. She could feel her breath growing laboured, felt the heat pouring off his body, so close but so far from hers.

He was devouring her with his eyes, more open than he had ever been before, desperate in his gaze and heavy with his breathing.

"Please, Gods please. Sansa."

He was begging, but he wasn't begging her, she knew that.

She would beg the gods too, if she felt she could talk in that moment.

Instead she felt her knees wobble beneath her silver dress, and strong hands give up their stony grip to hold her with gentle care.

So gentle. He was so, so gentle.

He pressed them together, temple to temple, and she could hear his heart beat, felt each ragged breath and knew hers matched. That she too could only savour, could only dream.

"Jon? Sansa?"

They didn't jump apart, they didn't even move.

She could tell they were both wondering what would happen if they just never let go.

Finally, the head and body of the King in the North came through the alcove curtain, stopping short at the sight of their embrace.

"Sansa?"

She knew in that moment that if she held on, Jon would never let go, he would hold on to her through everything.

But she also knew that everything had consequences. So many consequences, for so many that she cared for.

She let go.

 

"I'd be a carpenter."

"What?"

"I'd be a carpenter, or an electrician. I'd have a small business. With a few employees that were more friends than co workers."

Jon broke off another piece of lemon cake and popped it into her mouth, if only to stop her questions.

She had pulled away that night, and he understood. But he, he couldn't hide anymore. Not to her anyway. He knew that she saw the feelings that infused his every move, his every moment.

He admitted it. He wanted her to break too.

He didn't want her to hide anymore either.

"I'd go to work everyday, and I'd make sure that I had roses and daisies planted in my garden at home. Sometimes I'd get home before my wife. And then I'd stop and make her a wreath of flowers, even though, as a florist she would've been around them all day.

"When she got home I'd meet her outside the front door, put her wreath on and carry her through the doorway, just like newlyweds. Because I know I'd feel like a newlywed everyday.

He could see the tears starting to pool in Sansa's eyes and he gave her more lemon cake and continued rambling.

"I'd build her things. Shelves for her favourite books, like Austen and I'd read them to her, over and over as many times as she liked. I'd make her chairs to sit in when she was carrying our child, and a stool to put her feet on so I could rub them.

"I'd help her with her flower shop, and make sure she knew my flowers always had meaning. That they always carried memories. We'd go for a walk to the local bakery in the mornings and buy lemon cakes and apple scrolls and finish them before we got back home.

"I'd be a carpenter and I would make her tables to put vases and vases of flowers in. You could have a room for your sewing, and a garden for your shop, and we could sit in it, and make love under the stars on a blanket in our garden.

"I would make love to you every moment I could, after work, before work, during work, on the weekends, or during our daughter's naptime, when we find a moment to ourselves-"

And he knows he's crying and she's crying but now oh gods now-

Sansa's kissing him, she's kissing him and it's everything he ever dreamed it could be.

And then his hands are on her cheek and in her hair, and one of hers is grasping his shirt on his chest and one is pulling on his curls, and his tongue's in her mouth, running along the roof of her mouth, twisting against her tongue, and then she does this thing with her tongue- and he's gone, a hand on her hip now, pulling her so close he can't tell where her heat ends and his begins.

Both hands to her gods damned beautiful arse then, lifting her up and -ugh, fuck, her legs wrapped around him are where they're meant to be, always, he swears.

There's a fire raging through him but she's caught as well, and he knows that they'll fall to ash together. That's all that matters now.

But he has to taste more of her, has to, now.

Breaking away from her mouth is the hardest thing he's ever done but the taste of her throat and chest and oh gods fuck the taste of her breasts is a _very_ good distraction. She moans above him, hips bucking and writhing, and head thrown back, gasps and glorious sounds pouring unending from her swollen lips.

He disconnects for the ten seconds it takes for them both to undress and he has her on the table now, the left over lemon cakes thrown to the floor in haste and desperation.

"Gods Sansa, so long... dreamed, so fucking long..."

"I know... me... me too... ugh-please, please Jon..."

Her begging may have just about ended him but so had the view of her glorious body, only a part of what makes her his Sansa, but still so beautiful and a part of her just as worthy of being worshiped as her dreams and her mind.

Nipples the same shade as her lips almost call to him and he's latched on before he even processes the thought, hands eagerly searching out the other place that can make her moan for him, gods but she is moaning for him.

Fingers dip into a pool of wetness and he cannot resist, it would be futile to try.

Rushing as much as he dares, because he will savour this, fuck the gods he will savour this moment to cradle to his soul for the rest of his life, he kisses his way down her stomach. He leaves marks in his wake, just as he did on her throat and breast.

Maybe he shouldn't but he needs to know that there will be proof, even if it isn't eternal, but he needs there to be some proof tomorrow that this happened.

Reaching her cunt, he pauses to breathe her in, musk and salt and arousal, before licking a stipe from the bottom of her slit to her clit, sitting swollen, pink and perfect and the crown of her mound.

Sansa lets out a breathy scream and Jon doesn't think he's been prouder in his entire life.

He sinks his tongue into her first, getting a deep and devouring taste of her, memorising it for every night, every day in the future. Nothing will ever taste as good as her in this moment.

His name has turned into moans and screams on her lips as he moves up to brush the tip of his tongue across her clit, delighting in the buck of her hips and the thrust of her cunt into his face.

Fingers now, in and out and his mouth and tongue sucking and swiping, and his name is still on her tongue but she's trembling and she's so gods damn tight he can barely breathe for the picture she makes, enraptured in her pleasure.

She comes and it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

Then she's clawing at his back, bring him up to lay on top of her and she says

"Please, Jon. Please. I need you."

And he could never resist her after all.

When he finally sinks into her, it's the best moment of his life, and the worst as well. Because he knows, nothing will ever, ever compare to being joined to her. To Sansa.

He had always imagined their first joining a furious burst of passion, ending gloriously but quickly with short pounding strokes.

They make love for the first time on the table on his room, forbidden and star crossed they are, he takes his time, and he will know every inch of her body by the time he is through.

He draws out slow and steady, letting her feel him, feeling her in return. She's so hot, so tight, so fucking, fucking wet they make obscene sounds every time he moves within her.

It only makes him go slower.

He loves it, loves hearing her desire, loves feeling how wet he's made her, and soon he's gently circling her clit, still moving his hips with aching slowness. But then she's coming, gasping and grasping at his shoulders and teeth biting where his neck meets his shoulder.

He wants to close his eyes, it feels so fucking good, but she's so gorgeous, coming on his cock for him, he can't bring himself to ever take them off her again.

And then he's speeding up, lifting her legs up and over his shoulders, kissing her, kissing her, fucking so bloody deep into her he can't- he can't-

He comes as she clenches around him again, her own fingers on her clit this time and still, even as his vision goes white from the feel of his come shooting into her tight, slick warmth, knowing on a primal and deeply satisfying level that she has him inside of her now, he cannot take his eyes of her gorgeous face.

Her beautiful, beautiful face.

"I love you."

His cock's still inside her, they're naked on his side table, and she's engaged to his brother.

There's never been a more perfect moment.

Her hand reaches up and cups his cheek so loving and warm, he can't help but lean in and kiss it.

"I know," and tears are in their eyes again, he sees them in hers and feels them in his, "I love you too."

And then the door slams open.

"Oh Gods!"

"Fuck, what the fuck!"

"Ah, little brother."

Jon thinks everything may have ended.

 

* * *

 

Ten minutes after the most amazing moment of her life, Sansa is wrapped in Jon's dressing gown, sitting on a bed, and wondering what will happen now.

Jon and Aegon are standing before her, and she doesn't think she's ever been as tense as she is in this moment.

"Aegon. I love Sansa, she loves me and I cannot, will not let you marry her."

Half of Sansa agrees with Jon's stance, half cannot fear what will happen, all of her loves him even more for his words.

"I know."

"I'm sorry for keeping- wait, what?"

Sansa cannot help but agree. What?

"It's not like you didn't make it obvious, you are both rather poor actors, anyone who knew you knew you were in love from the day you met. Honestly."

Aegon is at this point picking his fingernails with a shit eating grin on his face, Sansa knows her fiancé is not a bad person, she knows him, but she cannot help but fear that expression.

"Do not worry little brother dear, and my dear Sansa, I'll not say a word, but you have to promise me to do me a favour in the morning."

Jon and Sansa exchange glances, but cannot think of anything he would make them do that he could not achieve by simply telling the truth now.

"What would you have us do?" Sansa enters the conversation for the first time, ignoring the wobble in her voice.

"Ah that, you'll find out in the morning. Don't worry, you won't be able to miss it."

 

* * *

 

Morning comes, and Jon fears for his future.

It turns out that Rhaenys is the one to break the news.

Sansa is still in his room after last night, they decided if it was to be their final and only night together, they would make the most of it at least.

She bursts in, paper in hand, slippers and dressing gown still on.

She stops suddenly, taking in the picture of the two of them, Jon curled protectively around Sansa, their faces ready and braced for their penalties.

She lets out a great bellow of laughter, and is soon wiping tears from her eyes.

"That's why the great idiot decided to do it today, a month early, idiot man. Poor things, he probably had you worrying the night away,"� she giggles, "though you were probably too busy doing other things to wile the night away."

"Rhaenys, what's going on? What do you mean?"

"Here, you lovesick idiots in love, read this, and brace yourselves, there might not be an easy ride ahead."

Jon grabs the paper out of her outstretched arm and he and Sansa sit up to read it together, headless of their nudity.

_CROWN PRINCE AEGON TO ABDICATE TO MARRY SECRET LOVE, ACTRESS MARGAERY TYRELL. PRINCE JON TARGARYEN TO TAKE HIS PLACE AS KING AND BETROTHED TO PRINCESS SANSA STARK._

The headline is huge and accompanied by a photo of Aegon at what is obviously a press conference.

"We all agreed that you would rule better than Aegon anyway, he himself included, and he and Margaery really do seem to be in some sort of love. I think."

With that, she up and left the room.

Jon looked over to Sansa, feeling as though someone had just hit him upside the head with a war hammer.

But this meant- this meant-

"Will you marry me?"

Once again, his words come out before he can think them.

Her lips come up to meld with his and he feels tears upon her cheeks once more.

"Yes, my knight, I will marry you. Yes, yes, yes, yes."

Every acceptance is accompanied by a kiss and Jon is air, he is light, he is the taste of her lips and the love in her eyes.

He is Sansa's. And she is his.

And their next kiss, it is gentle.

So, so, very, very gentle.

 

 


End file.
